Tuffy the Lhasa apso barked at this, as if to confirm that his excitement at being close to Praetor Gunztar had elevated him to near bladder-voiding levels of joy.
From behind the leash, Wilson glanced over to Schmidt, who was assiduously not looking in his direction. The entire group of them, human and Icheloe alike, were taking part in a formal presentation ceremony at the royal palace, in the same private garden where the long-missing king was last seen before the mysterious disappearance that plunged his planet into a civil war. The two groups had met in a central square surrounded by low planters arrayed in a circular design, which featured flora from all over the planet. In every planter was a spray of fleur du roi, a gorgeously sweet-smelling native flower that by law could be cultivated only by the king himself; everywhere else on the planet it was allowed only to grow wild.
Wilson remembered vaguely that the fleur du roi, like the aspen on earth, was actually a colony plant, and the sprays of flowers were all clones of one another, connected by a vast root system that could extend for kilometers. He knew this because as part of his dog-minding job, he needed to find out which plants in the private garden could tolerate being peed on by Tuffy. He was pretty sure that the fleur du roi would be hardy enough if it came to that, and it almost certainly would. Tuffy was the only dog on the planet. That was a lot of territory to mark.
“Now that we have all been introduced, I believe it is time to move forward with our initial meeting,” Praetor Gunztar said, turning his attention away from the Lhasa apso and back again to Ambassador Waverly. “Today I thought we’d take care of merely procedural items, such as confirming the agenda and opening formal statements.”
“That would of course be fine,” Waverly said.
“Excellent,” Gunztar said. “One reason for a short schedule today is that I would like to offer you and your people a special consideration. You may not know that the royal palace sits above one of the most extensive cave systems on the planet, one that ultimately travels almost two kilometers into the planet and meets up with a vast subterranean river. The caves have been used by the palace as a keep, as a place of refuge and even as a catacomb for the royal family. I would like to offer you a tour of these caves, which no one but Icheloe have been in before. It’s a token of our appreciation for the Colonial Union’s willingness to mediate these possibly contentious negotiations.”
“What an honor,” Waverly said. “And of course we accept. The caves really descend that far into the planet?”
“Yes, although we will not follow them down that deep,” Gunztar said. “They are blocked off for reasons of security. But what you will see is extensive enough. The cave system is so vast that even now it has never been fully explored.”
“How fascinating,” Waverly said. “If nothing else, it will give us an impetus to get through the day’s business as quickly as possible.”
“There’s that, too,” Gunztar said, and everyone had a laugh, in their own species’ fashion, at this. Then the entire mass, human and Icheloe, was herded toward the palace, to the suite of rooms reserved for the negotiations themselves.
As they moved, Waverly glanced toward Abumwe, who in turn glanced toward Schmidt, who held back with Wilson. Wilson stood, hand on leash, restraining the little dog, who was becoming anxious at seeing his mistress wander off without him.
“So, today will just be a couple of hours,” Schmidt said. “The agenda’s already been agreed to by both sides, so all we’re doing is going through the motions. All you have to do is keep Tuffy here busy until we break. After today you and Tuffy will be at our embassy for the duration.”
“I’ve got it, Hart,” Wilson said. “This isn’t exactly rocket science.”
“You’ve got all your stuff?” Schmidt asked.
Wilson pointed to a jacket pocket. “Kibble and treats here,” he said. He pointed to a trouser pocket. “Poop bags here. The pee I’m not picking up.”
“Fair enough,” Schmidt said.
“They know he’s going to do his business, right?” Wilson asked. “It’s not going to cause a major diplomatic incident if one of the grounds staff here sees li’l Tuffy in a poop squat, right? Because I am not ready to deal with that sort of thing.”
“It’s one of the reasons you’re staying behind here,” Schmidt said. “It’s a private garden. He’s been given approval for taking care of business. We’ve been asked not to let him do any digging.”
“If he does that, I can just pick him up,” Wilson said.
“I know I said it before, but sorry about this, Harry,” Schmidt said. “Dog sitting isn’t in your job description.”
“De nada,” Wilson said, and then rephrased at the sight of Schmidt’s puzzled expression. “It’s no big deal, Hart,” he said. “It’s like working on the shuttle. Someone’s got to do it, and everyone else has something more useful to do. Yes, I’m overqualified to watch the dog. That just means you don’t have to worry about anything. And that you owe me drinks after this.”
“All right,” Schmidt said, smiling. “But if something does happen, I have my PDA set to accept your call.”
“Will you please get out of here now and go be useful to someone,” Wilson said. “Before I have Tuffy here mate with your boot.”
Tuffy looked up at Schmidt, apparently hopefully. Schmidt left hastily. Tuffy looked over to Wilson.
“You leave my boots alone, pal,” Wilson said.
I have a problem, Wilson sent to Schmidt, roughly an hour later.
What is it? Schmidt sent back, using the texting function of his PDA so as not to interrupt the talks.
It would be best explained in person, Wilson sent.
Is this about the dog? Schmidt sent.
Sort of, Wilson sent.
Sort of? Schmidt sent. Is the dog okay?
Well, it’s alive, Wilson sent.
Schmidt got up as quickly and quietly as possible and headed to the garden.
“We give you one thing to do,” Schmidt said, as he walked up to Wilson. “One thing. Walk the damn dog. You said I didn’t have to worry about anything.”
Wilson held up his hands. “This is not my fault,” he said. “I swear to God.”
Schmidt looked around. “Where’s the dog?”
“He’s here,” Wilson said. “Kind of.”
“What does that even mean?” Schmidt said.
From somewhere came a muffled bark.
Schmidt looked around. “I hear the dog,” he said. “But I can’t see it.”
The bark repeated, followed by several more. Schmidt followed the noise and eventually found himself at the edge of a planter filled with fleur du roi flowers.
Schmidt looked over to Wilson. “All right, I give up. Where is it?”
Another bark. From inside the planter.
From below the planter.
Schmidt looked over to Wilson, confused.
“The flowers ate the dog,” Wilson said.
“What?” Schmidt said.
“I swear to God,” Wilson said. “One second Tuffy was standing in the planter, peeing on the flowers. The next, the soil below him opened up and something pulled him under.”
“What pulled him under?” Schmidt asked.
“How should I know, Hart?” Wilson said, exasperated. “I’m not a botanist. When I went over and looked, there was a thing underneath the dirt. The flowers were sprouting up from it. They’re part of it.”
Schmidt leaned over the planter for a look. The dirt in the planter had been flung about and below it he could see a large, fibrous bulge with a meter-long seam running across its top surface.